


Are You Afraid of the Dark?

by three_days_late



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Framing Story, Gen, Ghosts, Hetalia Kink Meme, Horror, Story within a Story, Storytelling, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_days_late/pseuds/three_days_late
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Australia, Italy, Germany, England, Russia, Canada, Japan, and America get stuck on an island, it's time to begin the time honored tradition of telling horror stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I started writing for the Hetalia Kink Meme ages ago, but never finished, so I'll do that now. The prompt was for nations telling ghost stories from their homeland, and I may have expanded the meaning of ghost story to include mythos and urban legends and the like. Same principal really.

 

It was becoming something of a tradition, getting stuck on That Fucking Island. No matter what, a handful of nations would always have some sort of transportation malfunction on their way to the meeting and end up crashed or marooned or otherwise stranded on that fucking island, forced to spend the night there until help could reach them the following morning.

Needless to say, it was also tradition to have a ghost story marathon to pass the time.

It was Japan's idea, a tradition from his home of telling scary stories in a dark room lit with candles, extinguishing one every time a story was completed until the participants were in a completely dark room. America, however, insisted on having the traditional campfire from his house lit in addition to the candles. The result ended up being an eerie glow over the surrounding area by the end of the night and several nations too frightened to leave the safety of the firelight.

It had developed into a competition. The nations present would go back and forth around the campfire, telling the scariest story they could think of from their home, and the one who told what the consensus deemed the scariest would win. A nation could "chicken out" and leave the campfire if they got too scared, forfeiting the competition, although America and Germany were the only ones to consistently take this option.

This year, America, Japan, England, Canada, Germany, Australia, Italy, and Russia were stuck on That Fucking Island for the night. Preparations for the candles and campfire were undertaken immediately and by nightfall everyone was ready for the ghost stories.

"Alright mates," Australia grinned as he lit his candle and held it out to pass the flame, "Anyone want to start us off?"

"I believe America-san should go first," Japan put his candle wick in Australia's flame, lighting it before passing it along, "He usually chickens-out early, so it is best to get his story out of the way."

"What? No way!" America took Japan's candle, lit his own, and held his out, "I'm definitely not chickening out this year. I'm so confident about it that I'll even go last."

"You say that every year," England sighed, lighting his candle on America's before he passed it back to its owner, "And yet every year you're out by the second or third story."

"Let him go last if he wants to," Germany lit his candle on England's, "The sooner we get this over with the better…"

"Oh! That's right!" Russia smiled as he lit his candle on Germany's and passed it along, "Germany's afraid of ghosts too isn't he?"

"It's alright Germany!" Italy lit his candle on Russia's and held out his own for the next person to light, "I'll make my story extra-scary so you and America can leave sooner!"

Canada sighed and lit his candle on Itay's, completing the circle of burning candles.

Italy pulled it away, scattering the melting wax as he bobbed around in his seat in excitement, "Can I go first? Please? I've got a really good one!"

"How about we let Australia go first?" America suggested with a shaky laugh, "Since, you know, he brought it up and everything, and his stories aren't usually that scary anyway!"

"Eh? My stories aren't scary you say?" Australia grinned and raised an eyebrow, "Well then do I have one for you. This is a story from back when I was still a kid, but it's a classic…"


	2. Waltzing Matilda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't speak Australian (this includes me):  
> Swagman - drifter  
> jumbuck - sheep  
> Trooper - police
> 
> Also, Jake - Australia, Taylor - New Zealand.

Jake was a simple man with simple pleasures. He wandered through the outback doing whatever he felt he needed to. When he got hungry he ate, when he got tired he slept, when he had to take a piss he took a piss, and he didn't let anyone stop him.

Today Jake was sitting down by the river, resting after a full day of waking away from one town and towards what he hoped was another, mostly because towns had food and water and places to sleep more comfortable than rocks rather than any need for social interaction. As long as he followed the river though, he'd have plenty of water and plenty of food.

Speaking of food, Jake was getting hungry. No sooner than he thought that did he hear a soft baa and spot an approaching sheep. Small, but fluffy and it certainly had meat on its bones, even if it was only enough for one or two meals. Push came to shove he might be able to get a decent price off of the wool.

Jake quickly grabbed his empty bag and snuck up behind the sheep as it dipped its head into the river, footsteps barely touching the ground, making only the slightest of sounds. Before the sheep knew what hit it, Jake had already scooped it up in his bag and was on his way.

* * *

"Tonga?" Taylor looked around for the lost sheep. Tonga was a good sheep, he just liked to wander a bit. That wasn't too bad considering some of the other things the other sheep got up too, but it made him awfully hard to take places, which is a shame because he needs to eat and drink like everything else.

"Tonga!" Taylor called again. When he didn't come or respond it was a bit more worrying. Even when he wandered off, Tonga was very good at coming when Taylor called.

Tonga's footsteps led to the river. It looked like he went for a drink but after that…

"Oh dear," Taylor sighed, "It looks like someone stole my sheep."

Taylor did not like it when people stole sheep.

* * *

Night fell and Jake felt that was a good time to set up camp along another stretch of the river, get a fire going for the night, perhaps cook up that sheep he bagged earlier. As he reached for his bag he heard a soft voice behind him say, "That's my jumbuck."

"Eh?" he turned and found no one.

"That's my jumbuck," he heard again, just outside the light of his fire, "And I want him back."

"Is that so?" Jake smirked in the direction of the voice, "You got any proof he's yours? 'Cause I'll tell you now, if it's in my bag, it's my jumbuck."

"That's my jumbuck," the voice insisted, "And I want him back. If you don't give him back you'll die."

"That a challenge?" Jake grabbed his knife from off the ground and stood up, "If you're going to spout fighting words, I'm ready to go!"

He was met with silence and when he left the fire to search for the owner of the voice, he found no trace that anyone was ever there. Blaming it on the wind and suddenly not in the mood for sheep, Jake lay his head on his bag and fell asleep with his knife in his hand.

* * *

"Excuse me," Taylor asked the man behind the desk, a trooper named Kirkland, "Somebody stole my jumbuck."

"That so?" Kirkland didn't look up from his paperwork, "When was this?"

"Yesterday," he stopped his work and looked up at Taylor, raising an eyebrow to silently ask why this was only being reported now, "It happened quite a ways from town, so I'm only getting here now."

"I see," he tapped his pen against the desk, "If that's the case, then I'm not sure there's much we can do for you. The thief is most likely long gone by now, assuming your jumbuck is still alive-"

"He's not far," Taylor interrupted, "the thief I mean. He's a swagman named Jake. He's not that far from here, and my jumbuck is with him. We should be able to catch him within a day."

Kirkland sighed and glanced around the office, "Everything looks under control here anyway. I suppose I could help you find your jumbuck. But don't misunderstand! I'm doing this because I have nothing better to do right now and it's my job, n-not to help you or anything."

"That's alright," Taylor smiled, "I just want my Tonga back."

* * *

Jake was finally able to stop and rest sometime after midnight. All day he had been chased by a trooper and someone he could only assume to be the owner of the sheep still tucked safely in his bag. All day they had been chasing him down no matter where he went. It took all of his tricks to get away and leave them a safe distance behind. Now he could finally rest and eat that damn sheep…

"That's my jumbuck," the voice said as Jake reached for his bag.

"You again!" he snarled into the darkness, "I'm not in the mood right now!"

"That's my jumbuck," it said again, "And I want it back."

"If you want it back so damn much," Jake shouted as he reached into the bag at tugged out the squirming sheep, "Why don't you come over here and get it?"

"That's my jumbuck," the voice repeated, "And I want it back. If you don't give him back, you'll die."

"I'd like to see you try!" he shouted, half deranged, into the night, clutching the squealing sheep even tighter, "Just try and get this thing before I kill it!"

Jake drew his knife as he held the sheep tight to his chest with one arm, positioning it right at its throat. The sheep renewed the struggles for its life, fidgeting wildly back and forth, trying to break Jake's grip and make a run for it. But Jake wouldn't let him; no he wouldn't let him run. He wouldn't let him live.

Suddenly a light, a torch, entered his field of vision, blinding him and momentarily stopping his actions before a heard a voice, a different voice, this one had a British accent, say, "Jake I presume?"

Jake turned, knife pointed towards this new threat, and tried to make out an outline in the dim torchlight, "Who's asking?"

"My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm a trooper from the next town over," he spoke calmly as if trying to calm a wild animal, "I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you."

"You think so?" Jake grinned as he continued staring at the light, "This jumbuck here is mine."

"That's _my_ jumbuck," the voice said again, "and I want it back."

"Well no one asked you!" Jake shouted into the air, "Nobody's listening to you!"

"Who are you talking to?" the trooper asked as he took a step forward.

"No one," Jake snarled, clutching the sheep closer as he backed away towards the river, "Stay back!"

"I'm trying to help you!" Kirkland took another step closer, "If you have something that's not yours-"

"It _is_ mine!" he shouted, taking several steps back and swinging the knife threateningly, "If you can't say otherwise it's mine! I found it so it's mine."

"That's my jumbuck _-_ "

"And I'll not have _you_ say any different!"

"Jake!" Kirkland snapped, "If you just calm yourself and let me see the jumbuck-"

"No!" Jake growled and tensed, ready to pounce at any moment.

"That's _my jumbuck_ -"

"And I've had just about enough out of you!" he screamed at the sky.

"If you would just be reasonable-"

" _That's my jumbuck_ -"

"-I'm sure we can solve this whole mess-"

"- _And I want it back_ -"

"-If you just let me see the jumbuck!"

"- _If you don't give it back, you'll die_."

"Would you both just leave me alone!" Jake shrieked and tossed his knife.

Kirkland dodged it on reflex, "There's no one here but me! I don't know why you're so…what are you doing?"

Jake backed up until he was standing right on the riverbank, teetering over the edge, maniacal grin plastered on his face, "Try and follow me here!"

Still clutching the sheep, Jake tipped backward into the river and let himself fall.

* * *

Arthur was able to fish the sheep out of the river, a little shaken, a lot wet, but relatively unharmed. He was not able to find any sign of Jake, alive or dead.

He scratched the sheep's head, and he gave a happy little baa, as he approached the site where he left Taylor, "Well I found your sheep. He's perfectly alright, if a little wet."

"Ah, Tonga!" Taylor beamed as Arthur handed him over, "Thank you so much! This means the world to me."

"Yes, well," Arthur cleared his throat, "It's my job after all. Unfortunately Jake jumped into the river and I wasn't able to stop him. I'm not sure where he's run off to-"

"You don't need to worry about that Mr. Kirkland," Taylor smiled and nuzzled Tonga's fur, "He's dead."

"Dead?" Arthur blinked and stared, "You say it so easily. How can you be so sure?"

"It's quite alright," Taylor reassured him, "He got what was coming to him."

Arthur caught a glint in Taylor's eye that made him take a reflexive step back.

"I don't like it when people steal jumbucks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story here is [Waltzing Matilda](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waltzing_Matilda), an old Australian bush ballad, which you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEVKUE_ma00). I may have taken a few (a lot of) liberties with this story, as well as all the other stories here. My apologies to those of you who know and love the originals.


	3. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, every update for this is going to have two chapters, an interlude and then the next story. So if you're one of those people that just skips to the latest chapter whenever there's an update, make sue you're backtracking for the interlude too.

Australia blew out his candle.

"That was alright," England shrugged, shaking some of the wax off his hand, "A decent attempt for sure."

"Decent attempt?" Australia smirked, "Those goose bumps on your arms tell a different story mate."

England frowned and gripped his candle tighter, "That's merely because it's chilly out. I'm not used to such a cold climate."

"Y-yeah," America chuckled, voice a pitch higher than normal, "That wasn't so scary…"

"If that is the case, would you mind releasing my hand now America-san?" Japan asked, "I am starting to lose circulation to it because of your grip."

"Sorry," America let go of the hand he had been clutching the entire time. Japan nodded in thanks and flexed it in an attempt to get blood flowing through it once more.

"How are you holding up Germany?" Russia asked with a smile plastered to his face, "Still holding in there?"

"Yes," Germany cleared his throat, "That was, an interesting story…"

"If no one minds," Canada said, "I have a story-"

"Can I go next?" Italy bounced in his seat, "I have a really good one! Plus my candle is hot and dripping and it's getting harder to hold on to and-"

"Yes fine Italy," England waved at him in frustration, "go ahead and tell yours."

"Oh Germany, feel free to cling to me if you get scared okay?"

"I'm sure that will not be necessary," he sighed and motioned for Italy to just get on with it.

"Okay, this is a story about death, ghosts, and murder. But mostly, it's a story about love…"


	4. Paolo and Francesca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just fyi, every update for this is going to have two chapters, an interlude and then the next story. So if you're one of those people that just skips to the latest chapter whenever there's an update, make sue you're backtracking for the interlude too.
> 
> Romulus - Rome, Germania - Germania, because I'm really great with this naming thing.

His granddaughter wasn’t shallow, Romulus Vargas had insisted during the peace negotiations. She was a lovely girl with a pure heart and an open mind, and she wasn’t shallow by any means. She showed kindness and an open heart to everyone she met, she certainly wasn’t _shallow_.

However, he had confided in Germania Beilschmidt, his long time foe in the war that had finally come to an end, she was easily spooked. If she were to see Germania’s oldest son, Gilbert, an albino who she had been promised to as part of the peace negotiations between their two kingdoms, she would become scared, as she had never seen, met, nor heard of albinism before, and she would panic and possibly run away, ruining the peace the two of them have been working so hard for.

But she certainly wasn’t shallow.

Germania didn’t quite understand, but he was tired of the fighting and wanted this marriage to work, so he agreed that, while Feliciana Vargas would be married to Gilbert Beilschmidt, his youngest son, Ludwig, would be the one to go and marry her in Gilbert’s name before taking her back to Gilbert.

A simple solution for an unnecessary problem.

Gilbert and Ludwig had agreed, and in a few months time, Ludwig had found himself on the Vargas’s doorstep, marriage papers already signed and filled out for a Gilbert Beilschmidt in hand. Romulus had greeted him with his brother’s name and a wink, his oldest son Lovino with a death glare and some curses. Everything was going according to the plan, which made Ludwig quite happy.

But then he was introduced to Feliciana. And something happened to disrupt the carefully laid out plan.

He fell in love with her.

How could he not? Feliciana was very beautiful, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, with auburn hair that glowed in the sunlight, wide, chocolate brown eyes that he could easily get lost in, and a smile that simply lit up the world. She was fearless and always spoke her mind, she was friendly and pleasant in a way he could never quite manage. She was perfect, and Ludwig had no choice but to fall hard and fast.

Ludwig was a man of his word however, and although it seemed Feliciana had fallen just as hard and as suddenly for him, he married her under his brother’s name and took her back to their home with the deception still in place. When Feliciana woke up the next morning, she found she not the man she fell in love with but the one she had been promised to.

Feliciana was furious. She threw Gilbert out of the room and locked herself in it for the rest of the day, refusing to eat and listen to anyone, especially her new husband.

Finally, after hours of screaming wore everyone else out, Ludwig was finally able to talk to her alone. He apologized for the deception and, because he was Ludwig and Feliciana loved him, she forgave him. As they spent most of the night talking, they realized that, despite everything, they were both still very much in love with each other, and decided to continue seeing each other behind Gilbert’s back.

For a while it worked; whenever Gilbert left for business, Ludwig would sneak in and make passionate love to Feliciana. They were careful, for a while, took extra precautions to make sure their secret affair was never found out. For a while, their love blossomed.

One day, when Gilbert was away and Ludwig snuck into Feliciana’s bed, they weren’t careful. A servant spotted them and reported the entire thing to Gilbert. Gilbert did not believe it at first, however he was not a stupid man, he knew of the secret looks his brother gave his wife and of the even more secret looks she gave him. He returned home as quickly as possible and marched straight up to Feliciana’s room. It was locked from the inside, so he banged and banged on the door, demanding to be let in.

Ludwig was, of course, still in bed with her, however he knew of a trap door he could use to make his escape and told Feliciana to open the door. As she did just that, however, part of Ludwig’s jacket got caught on the trap door, and he was stuck.

When Feliciana opened the door for her husband, all their sins were made clear to him. Blinded by rage, Gilbert drew his sword and stormed over to his treacherous brother, intent on ending his life. Feliciana pleaded with him, begged him not to, because they were brothers, because it shouldn’t end this way, but Gilbert allowed his anger to consume him and was deaf to her words. He raised the sword above his brother’s head and thrust it down with the intent to kill.

Only Feliciana, lovely, pure hearted Feliciana, had put herself in between Gilbert’s sword and Ludwig in an attempt to save her love. Gilbert, horrified by what he had done, because he did truly loved her, retracted his sword, allowing her lifeless form to crumple onto the floor, bleeding out from the gaping wound in her chest.

Shock and grief was shared between the brothers, and Ludwig barely felt it when his brother’s sword sliced neatly through his neck.

The next day, the lovers were buried together in the same tomb, and no one wept more than Gilbert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story this time is of [Paolo and Francesca](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francesca_da_Rimini). The best known version of this story is from Dante's  _Divine Comedy_ , but I think the version I used is from the poet Giovanni Boccaccio. 


	5. Interlude

Italy blew out his candle.

“That was more of a love story than a ghost story,” Australia said as he crossed his legs and smiled.

“Yeah,” America let out a shaky laugh, “Love stories aren’t that scary…”

“Is that so?” England raised an eyebrow, “Then you wouldn’t mind letting go of my hand so I can feel it again?”

“S-sorry…” he released the hand he’d been clutching all story. England scowled and rubbed it in an attempt to return circulation.

“Germany! What did you think?” Italy said, turning to face his friend.

“That was, uh,” Germany gulped and stared intently at the fire, “an interesting story.”

“Your knuckles are looking a bit white there,” Russia smiled.

“Who’s going next?” Canada asked, “If no one else wants to go-”

“I, well,” Germany cleared his throat, “I have a story in mind, if no one else wants to go.”

“Yes, go ahead,” Russia said as the smile on his face grew, “If you are getting scared, it is better to get your story over and done with. America, would you like to go after him?”

“Fat chance,” America smirked, “I’m still totally not scared. And Germany’s story about little mermaids or whatever is not going to change that.”

“Hans Christian Anderson was Danish,” Germany sighed, “and no, my story doesn’t have mermaid princesses. It does, however, have an elf king…”


	6. Der Erlköing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three stories down, five to go. This is where I stopped posting on the kink meme, so everything from here on out will be ~new~ in that I never got around to posting it.

Gilbert holds onto his little brother, Ludwig, tightly as he urges the horse through the woods. Ludwig clings firmly to his older brother, frightened by the dark woods, the imposing trees, the scattering sounds all around them this late at night. Suddenly he shudders and pulls his brother’s cloak tighter around him, hiding his face from the forest.

“What’s wrong Lud?” Gilbert attempts a laugh as he pushes the horse faster, “Why are you hiding? There’s nothing out there?”

“Don’t you see him Brother?” Ludwig whispered, barely peeking out over the cloak, “There, hiding among the trees, it’s the Elf King.”

The Elf King is a demon and a trickster, known for preying on the souls of small children, but he’s only a story, a fairy tale. If Ludwig is seeing him…Gilbert shakes his head. That’s a ridiculous notion. It must be the fever talking.

Gilbert looks out into the dark woods surrounding them and sees nothing, “There’s nothing there Lud.”

“He’s there!” Ludwig points out a shaking finger, “Right there, following us! Can’t you see small hat and pointy teeth?”

“There’s nothing there Lud,” he repeats as he grits his teeth and focuses back on the road, “You’re just seeing things in the fog.”

But Ludwig can see him, sees him laughing as he runs alongside the horse and beckons him over with a finger.

“You, dear child, lovely child,” he croons, “Come with me. Come play with me, such wonderful games we will play.” He laughs and Ludwig pales as he tries to escape further into his brother’s coat, “On my beach, there are such lovely flowers. Come see them! Come with me!”

“Brother,” Ludwig tugs at Gilbert’s coat with earnest, “Brother, can’t you hear him? Can’t you hear what the Elf King is promising me?”

“It’s fine, Lud,” he spares an arm to hold his brother more securely as he urges the horse onward, “It’s just the wind. You’re only hearing the wind against the leaves.”

“Don’t you want to come with me, dear child?” he is now gliding effortlessly alongside the horse, whispering in Ludwig’s ear, “My daughters would love for you to come with us.”  Behind him in the shadow of the trees, Ludwig sees figures emerging, “Oh they would love for you to come. If you come, they will dance with you all night and sing you to into sleep.”

“Brother,” Ludwig gasps, “Brother, can’t you see over there? The Elf King’s daughters in the woods just beyond the mist?”

“Lud,” Gilbert puffs out as he hurries the horse along, “Lud, I see it clearly. There’s nothing there but old willows. It’s a trick of the light.”

“Oh,” he sighs, right against Ludwig’s cheek, and he can feel the cold chill rushing across his face, “You are too precious, too beautiful for this world. You must come with me, you must,” he grins, showing off his pointed teeth as Ludwig’s body is racked with shudders, “If you will not come willingly, then I’ve not choice but to take you by force.” He reaches out and grabs hold of Ludwig’s arm.

“Brother!” Ludwig shrieks, “Brother, he’s grabbing me! The Elf King, he’s taking me with him!”

“Hold on, Lud,” Gilbert clutches his brother closer to his chest, feeling his fever through his shirt, “Everything will be alright. We’re almost there, I promise, just hang on.”

As they gallop on, Ludwig falls silent, and Gilbert finds this far more disconcerting than his babbling had been.

Gilbert arrives at the doctor’s house, leaps from the saddle, and starts banging on the door, “Specs! Specs get out here now!”

But even as the doctor answers the door, Gilbert realizes it’s already too late.

Ludwig lays in his arms, motionless, dead. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story this time is [Der Erlköing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erlking), which means 'Elf King' in English, or well it means 'Alder King' in English, but everyone goes with Elf King so I will too.
> 
> I believe the original mythos was Danish, and I based this telling off of a very famous piece by Schubert, who was Austrian, but Schubert based his composition on a [well known poem](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Der_Erlk%C3%B6nig) by Johann Wolfgang von Goeth, who was German, so Germany gets this story.


	7. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this update we've reached the halfway point!

 

Germany blew out his candle.

“Haha,” America trembled, “Th-that wasn’t that scary.”

“Is that so?” England asked, “Can you let go of my arm then?”

America gently released the arm he was holding in a death grip, “N-no worries.”

“That was certainly an interesting story,” Japan said.

“Why do all your stories have a dead kid in them,” Italy sighed.

Germay blushed, “They don’t all have a dead kid in them, just this one.”

“That’s fine,” England waved it off, “If the child didn’t die, then it wouldn’t be a ghost story.”

“Always so callous,” Australia snorted.

“I liked it,” Russia smiled. America shivered and made another grab at Japan’s arm.

“I guess,” Canada said, “I could go next-”

“As long as we’re on the subject of dead children,” England said, “I have a story…”


	8. Princes in the Tower

Prince Alfred and his brother Prince Matthew were being escorted back to the capital. It had only been a few weeks since their father passed, and with the state that their country was in, speed was of the upmost importance. If Alfred wasn't crowned king soon, who knew what would happen to them.

"Alfred," Matthew whined, "Are we there yet?"

"We'll get there soon, I think," Alfred grumbled. It had been a long journey, especially for a 12 year old and an 9 year old.

Suddenly their entourage was stopped by an army. Everyone was held at sword and spear point as they were quickly surrounded.

"What is the meaning of this?" the princes' guardian demanded.

The army parted and a man with thick eyebrows rode forth, "I'm here to pledge my loyalty to the new king," he said.

"Uncle!" Alfred and Matthew, who had been cowering behind their guardian, rushed forward to greet him.

Their guardian held them back, "And what sort of pledge is this, Arthur?" he gestured to the weapons still pointed at the boys.

"I have reason to believe that some members of this group wish my dear nephews harm," Arthur said, "As the Lord and Protector of this land until Alfred ascends the throne, I cannot allow that. I'll be taking over guardianship of the Princes from here."

Two of Arthur's soldiers roughly took Alfred and Matthew from their former guardian and pushed them towards their uncle's waiting arms, "Let's be off," he said.

"Uncle," Alfred said as they turned to leave, "What's going to happen to the others?"

Arthur sighed, "The traitors will have to be put to death, unfortunately. It's for the best."

Alfred looked back over his shoulder and glimpsed their former entourage being pushed around by his uncle's soldiers as they were lead away in another direction.

"These aren't easy times," Arthur said, "I'm sorry you boys are caught up in the middle of it. We can only rely on family right now."

Alfred swallowed and faced forward again. He and his brother nodded, "Yes, uncle."

* * *

"Sir, reports say Francis is gaining support abroad."

"If he does return he could gain even more support from the people here."

"He has more of a claim to the throne then you, especially if Alfred is crowned king."

"Sir, what's your next move?"

* * *

"Uncle," Alfred said, "It's been weeks since we've been in the capitol. When am I going to be King?"

Arthur smiled, "Soon, don't worry. A coronation needs a lot of preparation, especially now." He glanced between his two nephews, Alfred pouting at him, Matthew sitting quietly, listening, "Boys, I need to talk to you about moving your living quarters."

"Huh?" Alfred and Matthew's eyes went wide, "Why can't we stay in the palace with you?" Matthew asked.

"It's far too risky," Arthur shook his head, "The Tower is much more secure."

"The Tower?" Alfred exclaimed, "You're locking us up!"

"Not at all, this isn't going to be permanent," Arthur said, "This is for your safety. Once the coronation business is over and done with, you'll be able to move back into the palace."

Matthew bit his lip and looked away. Alfred still didn't look convinced.

Arthur sighed and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, "Please, you have to trust me on this. Your safety is my top priority. If anything were to happen to either of you," he squeezed his shoulder and looked away, "I could never forgive myself."

Alfred's expression wavered, and he stepped back and nodded.

The Princes were moved into the Tower the next day.

* * *

"Sir, we've received news about our enemy's movements."

"Alfred's coronation cannot be postponed indefinitely. The longer it's stalled, the more suspicious people will become."

"The Princes need to be dealt with, and soon."

"I understand. I'll take care of it."

* * *

Matthew woke up with a start. His sleep had been uneasy these past few nights, constant tossing and turning, hearing strange, ominous noises down the hall, outside his window, in his room. He knew he was in the Tower for his and his brother's safety, but that didn't mean he didn't find the place _creepy_.

He turned over and was about to fall back to sleep when he heard a faint crash down the hall. As quietly as he could, Matthew shuffled out of bed and peeked out into the hallway.

The hall was dark, no torches were lit, only a faint streak of moonlight shown through the high windows. Everything was still. No sound could be heard save for the frantic beating of his own heart. Something wasn't right, Matthew could feel it, and he listened hard for anything out of place.

He heard a muffled shout come from Alfred's room, so faint that it could easily be missed or played off as a merely the wind. Matthew stepped out of his room and slowly, quietly, made his way to his brothers, all the while convincing himself that he was wrong, that he was being paranoid, that his Uncle loved them and would never let someone in here w'ho would hurt them.

When he arrived at his brother's door, he rested his hands on the hard wood and pushed. The door glided open on well-oiled hinges as Matthew took a few cautious steps inside.

He had barely enough time to take in the sight of blood on nearly every surface of the room before he felt a sharp pain in his chest and afterwards, nothing.

* * *

"Sir, a report. The unrest of the people is growing. If you wish to declare yourself king, there will be very little resistance from them."

"And what of the young Princes?"

"Taken care of, Sir."

Francis smiled, "Excellent."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story this time is a very dramatized retelling of the [Princes in the Tower](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Princes_in_the_Tower), or the assumed fate of Edward V and his brother Richard Shrewsbury, the Duke York. I have taken many liberties with the facts and history here, especially since the actual fate of the Princes is a complete unknown, but so did Shakespeare when he wrote Richard III, so there.


End file.
